Robert Browning

Incident Of The French Camp - Poem by Robert Browning

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I.

You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away,On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day;With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind,As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind.

II.

Just as perhaps he mused ``My plans ``That soar, to earth may fall,``Let once my army-leader Lannes ``Waver at yonder wall,''---Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew A rider, bound on boundFull-galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound.

III.

Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erectBy just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect---(So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through)You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two.

IV.

``Well,'' cried he, ``Emperor, by God's grace ``We've got you Ratisbon!``The Marshal's in the market-place, ``And you'll be there anon``To see your flag-bird flap his vans ``Where I, to heart's desire,``Perched him!'' The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire.

V.

The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathesA film the mother-eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes;``You're wounded!'' ``Nay,'' the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said:``I'm killed, Sire!'' And his chief beside Smiling the boy fell dead.